


in the aftermath

by nlieco (madin456)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Tree Climbing, Unrequited Love, leo doesn't go back to ogygia after the war, there's a theme in all my pjo fics and that's to ignore the ending of BoO, will solace as a plot device lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29265360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madin456/pseuds/nlieco
Summary: Under calloused fingertips, Nico’s skin shifts as a faint smile takes over his features. His eyelids open, gaze leveling to meet Leo’s. “How long are you planning to stare, Valdez?”Three weeks after saving the world, Leo climbs a tree and comes to a nebulous conclusion: the aftermath of war is a quiet one.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Leo Valdez, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Comments: 18
Kudos: 62





	in the aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> i am once again back on my valdangelo nonsense
> 
> this was originally going to be focused on unrequited love but it turned into more of a character study for leo. i also made up a backstory for him so he’s a tree climber now, i guess
> 
> thank you, melly, for beta reading this even though you’re not in the fandom!

Leo hasn’t climbed a tree since he was a kid.

The last time he pulled himself up a thick branch, kicked his feet against the sharp ridges of tree bark, was when he was eleven. One of his foster homes—the third one, maybe, he’d lost count after a while—had a big maple tree in the backyard and the remnants of a treehouse sitting on top, built years ago for a daughter who had long outgrown it. The wooden planks were worn down and cracked by the time Leo got there, but it still provided the one function he needed at that point in life: escape.

Leo spent hours in that treehouse, feeling the universe realign its axis, watching dusk blister across the sky in shades of indigo. He’s always been fairly small, but under the emerging starlight, he had learned to shrink his size even more, fold in on himself like if he took up less space, he could pretend that he wasn’t there at all.

On a good day, his foster parents would call him to come inside for dinner and not bother to wait for him. By the time he climbed down the tree and walked across the yard, through the back entrance, he’d find a bowl of food on the dining table of an empty kitchen. Cold, dry. And he would eat with the pet dog by his feet, who had his head buried in his own meal, and the message was clear.

Why did they bother signing up to foster a kid if they weren’t actually interested in childcare? Leo was never brave enough to ask the question aloud, but the thought cycled through his head every time he was transferred to a new place.

Years later, he still doesn’t know the answer, but that’s fine. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone off to do bigger and better things, been claimed as the child of a major god and built a flying metal ship from scratch with his bare hands and went on one of the most important quests in demigod history. Imagine that: the scrawny little boy who only knew how to tinker with machinery was _chosen_ to save a world that didn’t want him in it. What a fucked up system.

But the point is—his playground has expanded since he was eleven, far beyond the six-foot-tall fence of a backyard that never truly belonged to him.

He has all the trees in the world to climb now.

This one happens to be located across the street from an elementary school, a tall elm tree soaking up the afternoon sun. Leo sits on a sturdy branch, feels decades of survival on the rough bark under him, and knows he chose a good one. He inhales his first real breath since the end of the war, filling his lungs with reverie. It's a different world up here, three meters above ground level, an arm’s length away from the drifting clouds.

A flash of black appears in his peripheral vision and Leo looks over to find Nico di Angelo, quite literally, materializing in the space beside him. He jumps back in shock, the branch bending under the added weight.

“Jesus!” Leo reaches an arm out to balance himself before he tumbles to the ground. His hand conveniently lands on tree sap and he curses, trying to rub it off on his pants. Great. “You—gods, di Angelo, you really need to get over your habit of scaring people half to death.”

Nico shrugs, emerging fully from the shadows. His feet dangle off the branch and he swings his legs innocently. “I called out to you first, but you didn’t hear me.”

“So then why didn’t you just climb up like a _normal person_?”

“Lazy,” he responds, then curls his lips into a smirk. “I also like to indulge in my hobby of scaring people from time to time.”

Leo groans and begrudgingly admits he set himself up for that one as he smears his hand over Nico’s arm in retaliation. The sticky, yellow fluid leaves a streak on his skin and he makes a face at Leo but doesn’t bother wiping it off.

They talk a little more, here and there, but eventually fall into a natural silence. He still can’t get a good read on Nico most days, expression always so closed and guarded. A part of him wants to ask why Nico decided to join him, off the ground on a tree of all places, but even that seems intrusive.

Their relationship is friendly, but not exactly friends. Leo supposes he knows Nico well enough, as much as he knows the others, in a we-need-to-team-up-and-save-the-world kind of way. They’ve had one late night conversation together that went beyond their usual small talk of two strangers forced to bear the burden of the gods, where Nico indulged in some of his shitty jokes and found out that they shared more similarities than they’d initially thought. But that was just one time.

He sneaks a glance at Nico, whose eyes are muted and distant. A joke would be good right now, to lighten the mood, but Leo doesn’t have the energy in him today.

Across the street, a loud bell rings, indicating the end of the school day. Children rush out the front gates almost immediately, carrying backpacks that are hilariously big, some nearly twice their size. They break off into groups to walk home in different directions—a bounce in their step, carefree in a way Leo doesn’t remember being at that age. A sense of normalcy he never got to experience.

It’s a weird feeling, to miss something that was never his to begin with.

“Did you ever think that the end of the war would be… different?” he wonders aloud, saying the words as they form in his head. “Like, we won, right? We won. We beat Gaea. But nothing’s really changed; the mortals don’t even know that the world could’ve ended a few weeks ago, our parents are still dead, and the gods are—man, who the fuck knows what the gods are doing?”

Nico huffs out a laugh at that, but it falls flat, humourless. “Yeah.”

Bringing his knees to his chest, Leo’s expression hardens. He’s thought about it over and over, churned the idea in his mind until he has broken down the construct to its most basic elements, and comes to the same conclusion every single time: “There’s really nothing glorious about being a hero.”

“Yeah,” and this time, Nico sounds defeated, like he still hasn’t quite managed to shake the weight of the world off his shoulders. He closes his eyes, tilting his head back to let the wind card through his hair. It leaves him vulnerable, dark circles and faint scars exposed, looking tired. So, so tired.

And Leo can’t help it—he reaches out, breaches the distance between them, hesitates. Nico is the one who leans into his touch first, seeking out comfort as though he can sense Leo’s hand there, hovering inches away from the side of his face. It makes Leo’s breath hitch at the contact, makes him want to—

Beautiful is not a word often used to describe Nico di Angelo, but Leo thinks he is exactly that: _beautiful_. Undoubtedly, unapologetically beautiful. With dark hair framing pale skin and long lashes fluttering against cheekbones, he holds a hidden kind of splendor that dances along the curve of his jawline, dips down into the ridges of his clavicle. Invisible beauty.

A minute passes and Nico still hasn’t opened his eyes yet, so Leo allows his gaze to linger a while longer. Allows himself this small victory. Patches of fading sunlight filter through the leaves and tangle themselves between half-curled strands of hair, soft and gentle, like a lover’s touch. Leo lifts a finger, grazes it against the edge of Nico’s fringe, and it’s like all the things he’s put aside in favour of focusing on saving the world hits him now, in full force.

Here is a boy who is well within his grasp, who will never truly be his. Nico carries himself with a certain sharpness, like he takes the titles _son of Hades_ and _Ghost King_ and says a firm _no_ to both of them. No, he won’t be burdened by the reputation that comes with his heritage anymore; no, he won’t let himself be defined by mere labels from now on.

And that defiance, that sureness in himself he’s finally managed to grow into, combined with the washed-out glimmer of the late afternoon sun, makes him _glow_.

Gods, Leo thinks. Nico is beautiful and he doesn’t even know it.

Under calloused fingertips, Nico’s skin shifts as a faint smile takes over his features. His eyelids open, gaze leveling to meet Leo’s. “How long are you planning to stare, Valdez?”

Those words might as well have been a bullet with the way his body jolts, a direct puncture to his chest. Leo hates how easily his heartbeat picks up, how his throat dries in the face of Nico’s undivided attention. The physical effect all of this has on him. His bones _ache_ with the desire to inch closer and feel the warmth of another person next to him, but he knows his limits, his boundaries. Knows to stay in his lane.

His hand lowers and he retreats back to safety.

“How do you know I was staring?” When Leo responds, he’s careful to keep his voice even. “Is seeing through your eyelids another one of your twisted hobbies?”

“It is.” Nico’s tone is so deadpan that it draws out an unexpected laugh from Leo, and this is enough, he thinks. This has to be enough.

The wind lets out a howl, leaves rustling in rippling waves all around them. For a moment, Nico looks back at him, face softening into something warm and fleeting. It’s entirely unfair. A traitorous thought enters Leo’s mind, slips past his strongest defences with ease, and he dares to entertain the idea that maybe, _perhaps_ , it’s not just him; that Nico feels some sort of connection between them, too.

A voice calls out from below and the fantasy dissolves as quickly as it came. Wishful thinking. Leo turns his head, thrust back into the unforgiving landscape that is reality at the sight of blond hair, so rich in colour that it almost seems to give off its own light. And who was he kidding? He never stood a chance.

“Nico!” Will Solace stands beneath the tree, a boy made of sunshine, doused in golden hues and bright, bright embers. His hands are cupped around his mouth like a beckoning call. “Ready to go?”

Leo scoots himself away from Nico as much as he can on their shared branch and adverts his eyes like he’d done something shameful. Like even _hope_ is a four-letter word too big for him to hold. Old habits resurface on new wounds, his body already folding inward to make himself smaller. If Nico notices the change in composure or the increased distance between them, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Sorry, gotta go,” Nico says, more apologetic than he has any right to be. His smile turns sheepish, a hint of red dusting his cheeks. “It’s date night.”

The ache that follows is one he’s come to expect, so when the jealousy ricocheting off Leo’s heart threatens to crawl up his throat and spill from his mouth, he bites his tongue, refusing to let it out. Instead, he waves a hand and forces a smile, keeps his words light. Follows routine. “Go ahead. Wouldn’t want to keep lover-boy waiting.”

He adds a playful wink, though it’s not nearly enough to disguise the fact that he’s overcompensating at this point, a sense of desperation skirting along the edges of all his actions. But it works, maybe too well, and Nico says his goodbyes as he pushes himself off the branch. He gets swallowed up by the yawning mouth of lingering shadows, a wisp of dark energy carrying him away, only for him to reappear at the base of the tree seconds later. Slender fingers tangle themselves between Will’s. They fit perfectly.

“I told you not to shadow travel yet!” Will scolds, but tightens his own grip around Nico’s when they turn to walk down the road. His voice fades further and further in the distance, moving away from the school and out of Leo’s range of hearing. “You still haven’t fully healed—”

Leo watches them go and only allows the smile to slip off his face once they’re out of sight completely, slumping down in his seat. His eyes glaze over, looking into the distance at nothing in particular as time passes in waves. Vaguely, he’s aware of the sky layering itself in magenta, the slow downhill climb of the setting sun.

It’s mid-summer, but he feels cold. There is a layer of frost lining his skin, numbing the tips of his toes, a chill wracking shivers throughout his entire body. He’s managed to save the whole fucking world, almost died at the hands of titans and monsters and giants, but still—it’s heartbreak that hurts the most, in the end. Leo could laugh at the absurdity of it all, but none of it is particularly funny.

A leaf drifts down from the branch above him, much too early for it to be falling. Autumn is still a few weeks away. Leo catches it in his hand, clenches his fist, and watches it crumble under a force far greater than it could ever withstand.

He is a child turned soldier turned child once again. He wants nothing more than to scream at the sky, the gods who forced him to fight their battles at the age of sixteen, and demand them for—for justice, for a life they robbed from him, for a _choice_ , damn it. He wants to scream, but all that comes out is a sigh as he leans his head back until it hits the trunk of the tree.

The aftermath of war is a quiet one.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i've ever mentioned will in any of my stories skdgh but anyway i'm on tumblr and twitter if you wanna talk!
> 
> [pjo blog](https://nlieco.tumblr.com/) | [writing blog](https://madin-writes.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/chaasiu)


End file.
